


Undone and Divine

by whitespireblackcity



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Romance, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-15 02:04:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5767114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitespireblackcity/pseuds/whitespireblackcity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ella Trevelyan has accepted her life within the Ostwick Circle of Magi. The Maker, however, seems to have other plans. Just weeks before the Divine's Conclave, Ella's quiet life veers decidedly off the rails, and she's thrown into the middle of absolute chaos. Love, loss, and a gaping hole in the sky really can shake things up.<br/>This is the story of a mage that just wanted to play by the rules, an ex templar who just wanted to make things right, and the friends and family that helped them both survive and grow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Waves splashed against the hull of the _Lady's Grace_ as the former Knight Captain of Kirkwall gritted his teeth and marched up the gangplank. It had been at least ten years since he'd set foot on a ship and had it not been the only way to get to Ferelden for the Divine's Conclave, he would have been happy to avoid it. His new position as the commander of the Inquisition's forces, however, required him to travel with the inner circle of the most holy to the restored Temple of Sacred Ashes.

He took a deep breath as the ship passed out of the harbor, deliberately avoiding the view of the chained slaves that guarded the passage to the open sea. Even as Kirkwall faded from view he struggled to put images of the broken city out of his mind, reminding himself that he had tried to help rebuild, that he had tried to do the right thing.

_"Too little, too late,"_ a voice whispered in his mind, _"yet you choose now to turn away from that which will make you better."_

Cullen gripped the railing until his knuckles were white. The quiet voice, the small expression of self doubt, had grown in volume and intensity since he had quit taking the lyrium. A few days of chills and fever had delayed them in Kirkwall, as Cassandra had insisted on them waiting until the worst had passed before they set sail, but somehow he had known it was only the beginning.

Headaches were his constant companion, as was the strange sensation that he was missing a part of himself. He felt weak, both physically and mentally, and he hated that both his mind and body cried out for the small blue vial he now kept locked in its box in the bottom of his trunk. As he stood on the deck, he reminded himself that was not a Templar and he would not be leashed to the order any longer.

As the days passed and the headaches persisted, he struggled with more side effects of the withdrawal. He hardly slept the first few nights he spent in his quarters below decks. Shadows danced across the corners of his eyes only to disappear when he focused on them, and the cold, eerie laughter that often woke him faded even as he strained to hear it.

One night, around halfway through the trip, he woke in a cold sweat, his limbs tangled in the blankets. Cullen thrashed wildly in an attempt to free himself, but only succeeded in toppling out of the bed. Had the circumstances been different, he might have laughed, but as he wiped the sweat from his brow, he caught sight of a figure in the shadows. Had he been screaming? Cassandra had come to check on him before, to make sure that his nightmares were just that. But as the figure moved into the light, he felt his blood run cold.

It was not Cassandra. It had the figure of a female, but it was a demon. The light from the dying candle illuminated her...its? Purple skin, and the laughter he had heard so many times rang through the room. He pulled the blankets away and got to his feet, reaching for the blade he kept beside his bed.

Though he and Cassandra had the largest quarters available on the ship, Cullen felt stifled, trapped, and he worried that if it came to a fight he would not be able to maneuver properly. The air was too thick for him to breathe properly, and the musty smell of wet wood nearly made him gag. The demon advanced on him, her body swaying as her lips pulled into a grin.

"Commander," she murmured, her voice almost a caress against his fevered skin, "I told you I would have you, did I not?"

Cullen's back hit the wall and he gritted his teeth, his hand tightening around the grip of his sword.

"You will not." He said steadily, surprising himself with his own conviction.

"I will." it insisted, "You think yourself strong enough for what is to come, but it is arrogance. You have fallen so many times, would you not like to rest? You could have peace, a family, everything you deserve."

Cullen laughed bitterly. He deserved nothing. The path he was on now was not one of ease that led to a happy ending, it was a path of atonement, a path he should have chosen many years ago. As the realization took hold, he raised his sword and lunged forward. The demon danced out of his way... And was gone.

He at bolt upright in his bed and looked wildly around the room. Moonlight filtered through the small window and pooled on the end of his bed, and he buried his face in his hands as he realized it had just been another nightmare. With his alertness, the sense of entrapment returned, and he roughly tugged on a tunic and a spare pair of breeches. He had hated the room before, hated the smallness of it, how his head scraped the ceiling if he didn't bend a bit upon entering, but the dream had been the last straw. Before he was even dressed properly, he was tugging open the door and moving up to the deck.

Still lost in thought, he wandered across the deck, walking a full circuit of the ship as the sun rose. He found a pile of crates and took a seat against them, watching the sun rise over the ocean. The air on his face was cool and soothing, and the beauty of the sun reflecting off of the water almost made him smile in spite of his worries. Instead, he pulled an old coin out of his pocket, ran his thumb across its worn surface, rested his head against the wood and prayed.

 

> _"Andraste, please lend me strength. I have left the path I thought was my own and begun anew... And I am terrified. I accept the suffering that I must endure, but I pray that I have the strength to spare others the horrors I have seen."_

The whispered words floated away on the breeze, and he hoped someone had been listening. He was in a position to help, to really help the people of Thedas-mages and Templars alike-and he would not squander it because he was afraid. The edges of the coin bit into his hand, and he released it back into his pocket before reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. They got stuck, of course; the salty air had made the curls nigh unmanageable, and he had only just managed to pull his fingers free when he heard a voice.

"Nothing can tame that mop, Curly." Varric Tethras pointed out as he approached, his absurd crossbow missing from its usual place across his back. Cullen glared at the dwarf, then looked back over the water, silently encouraging varric to just go away. Instead, the dwarf leaned against a crate.

"Are you really ready to leave?" Varric asked quietly.

Cullen started to bark out a snappy reply, but paused. Was he ready to leave? He'd helped start rebuilding, he'd left the Templars in capable hands, and he'd given up every tie to the order that he had always thought would be his life. He had just prayed for guidance, and wondered if this was the Maker's way of offering it. Out loud, he simply replied, "All of it."

Varric nodded.

"Ferelden might not be better."

"I was there during a Blight," Cullen reminded the storyteller, "and the Circle..." He trailed off, a sardonic smile playing at the corners of his mouth, "Well, it can't be _worse_."


	2. Chapter 2

A stray lock of hair fell into Ella Trevelyan's face, obscuring her vision as she scanned the room. Ostwick's Circle Tower wasn't the largest in the Free Marches, but it was certainly big enough to make breakfast in the dining hall a difficult time to locate any one person in particular. With an impatient huff, she shifted her tray to one hand and tucked her hair behind her ear. As she turned, she caught sight of who she had been looking for, smiling when he raised a hand in greeting. 

The boy looked even younger than his eighteen years, his dark hair falling haphazardly around his wide brown eyes. It didn't help that his robes were rumpled and... Ella blinked. Was his collar singed? 

"Enchanter Trevelyan," he said politely as she sat down across from him, "you sent word that you wanted to speak with me?"

"Good morning, Bradin. Yes, I did."

"May I ask what about?"

Ella sat in front of him and busied herself with her tray as she considered her answer. Bradin had been her apprentice for a little over two years, and she had learned quickly that accusations and criticism were not the best way to get through to him. He did, however, respond well to patience and logic. She chose her words carefully, picking up a piece of bread and spreading butter on it as she spoke. 

"Two senior enchanters approached me after our meeting last night. They informed me that both of their charges had been caught out of bed at odd hours, and that both of them said they were coming to see you." 

Bradin shifted in his seat, but didn't answer. 

"I do not mean to pry into any personal affairs, but both enchanters mentioned to me that these apprentices have been behaving strangely. I am just curious as to why they both mentioned your name."

"They don't know how to shut up is why," Bradin grumbled, obviously annoyed. 

Ella sighed. She knew all too well how frustrating it could be to be an apprentice with barely any time to yourself. Her own mentor, Lydia, had given her assignments that kept her studying long after others her age had gone to bed. But thanks to the tension that had been building since the war began, it was growing more and more important that they follow the rules. 

"Bradin, I know that studying every waking hour is less than fun, but you have to be prepared for your Harrowing. I'm due to leave for the Divine's Conclave in a few days, and you are likely to be summoned before I leave." She eyed him, her voice taking on a grim tone. "And given recent events, secret meetings in the dead of night are unlikely to come across in a good light to the Knight Commander and First Enchanter."

He snorted, and Ella stared at him. 

"Of course they won't like it. Those two don't like anything even slightly out of the ordinary." He looked around and lowered his voice. "Don't go to the conclave, Enchanter Trevelyan, stay here and convince the First Enchanter we need to pick a side. The right side."

Ella was stunned. Bradin had made it clear he agreed with the rebels who had split from the chantry, but he had always at least respected the leadership of the Circle. They had exchanged heated words on several occasions, most recently when the First Enchanter selected Ella and Senior Enchanter Lydia to represent at the Conclave. Bradin had been infuriated that he would not be allowed to go, but Ella had placated him, or so she had thought.

"Bradin, more fighting isn't going to help, not on either side. Divine Justinia wants peace, and the Conclave is our best chance. The First Enchanter and Knight Commander both know that."

He snorted again and his features twisted into a sneer. 

"And what about you, Enchanter?" His voice was sharp and Ella's blue eyes widened with surprise. "Do you really believe we belong locked up in these towers for all of our days, trapped with jailers who loathe and fear us?"

"I--Bradin, the Templars here are no harder on any of us than the enchanters are. They are here just as much to keep us safe as anything else."

"Do you really believe that or is that just what you tell yourself in order to convince yourself you aren't a coward like the First Enchanter?"

Ella's eyes flashed and her mouth set into a hard line. When she spoke her voice was sharp, and he flinched. Ella rarely snapped at anyone, and she could count the times she had really been angry at him on one hand. 

"You will  _ not _ speak to me like that, apprentice. Regardless of your opinion, I am still your superior, and I will not be insulted when I am trying to help you."

They glared at each other over forgotten food, neither backing down. Bradin was the first to falter, the anger leaving his eyes as he stared down at his hands. 

"My apologies, Enchanter. I simply..." He trailed off for a moment but recovered quickly, "I suppose I just hate being trapped in this tower."

Ella sighed again and picked at the bread in front of her. 

"If the conclave goes well, we will all be able to work together. Just… Try and focus on your studies, Bradin."

“Yes, Enchanter,” he replied, turning his focus back to his breakfast. The conversation was clearly over, and the two ate in silence. 

Ella's mind, however, was far from quiet. Bradin's attitude was dangerous, and though most of the senior enchanters had voted to stay out of the fighting, some of the younger enchanters and apprentices were a bit more eager to join the fray. Personally, Ella was conflicted. She didn’t mind being in the Circle--the relative quiet as well as the education were enough for her--but it would have been nice to be allowed to remain with her family. A change needed to be made, but Ella did not believe that bloodshed would make it. Perhaps that was why the First Enchanter had asked her specifically to accompany Enchanter Lydia to the Conclave.

She chewed slowly as she considered the implications, so lost in thought that she did not notice the two approaching templars until Bradin looked up and glared over her shoulder. Ella turned, startled, and marveled at the knights’ uncanny ability to move quietly in heavy plate. The corners of her mouth turned up when she noticed the red curls and blue eyes of her sister, Malory. 

The youngest Trevelyan was clad in the same heavy plate as the other Templar, but did not share his gloomy expression. Though five years younger than Ella (and Ella's twin, Alec) Malory stood nearly four inches taller than her, and a couple of inches taller than the man--Ser Kendrin, a long time family friend--standing next to her. 

Ella grinned, but restrained herself from standing to embrace her sister. The grand cleric of Ostwick had allowed them to be stationed in the same circle only because she was their aunt, and only on the condition that their relationship be kept as professional and unobtrusive as possible. Despite the red hair and blue eyes that all three Trevelyan siblings shared, there were few at the circle who looked closely enough at the two to notice the resemblance. 

Malory hung back, a small smile on her otherwise carefully composed face, allowing Ser Kendrin to take the lead. The smile didn't quite reach her eyes, however, and Ella's stomach began to tie itself in knots.

"Apprentice," he said solemnly, then nodded to Ella, "Enchanter. The Knight commander sent me to bring your apprentice to the Harrowing chamber."

Ella froze, her joy at seeing her sister washed away by a cold and sickly fear. Every bone in her body screamed that something was not right with her apprentice, and she had hoped for more time to find out what. Bradin however, stood up, his chest puffed out and his face an unreadable mask. 

"I am ready, Ser Templar," he said steadily before turning to Ella and giving her a charming smile. "Enchanter Trevelyan, I thank you for your patience and kindness as you have taught me. I am certain I will put my training to the correct use. You have been an inspiring mentor."

"You will do well, Bradin. I'm sure of it," Ella told him as she watched him follow Ser Kendrin from the dining hall.

It was then that Malory moved up to her and spoke. 

"Enchanter, I am to escort you upstairs and then to stand guard with you outside of the Harrowing chamber while he completes his Harrowing. Senior Enchanter Lydia had some things to speak with you about."

Ella nodded, gathering the remnants of her forgotten breakfast and carrying them to the trash. When she returned to Malory's side, the younger girl gave her a grin that faded a bit when she noticed the look on Ella's face. 

"You're worried," Malory stated when they were clear of the crowded dining hall. "What's wrong?"

Ella made a mental note to work on her poker face and sighed. 

"Bradin... I'm not sure he's ready. He's been talking more and more about how unnecessary the harrowing is, and how Ostwick should join the rebels in Ferelden. Facing the harrowing..." Ella trailed off as she remembered her own. A desire demon had promised her everything she wanted; the chance to be a templar, the approval of her family, everything, and it had been difficult to resist. "His mind needs to be clear, not distracted by politics and rebellion."

Malory nodded as they ascended a flight of stairs, keeping silent until they could speak again in the next hall

"He has had a good teacher, Ella. Even if he fails it will be no fault of your own."

Ella snorted. 

"I mean it. I've heard the enchanters and even some of the other Templars talk about you. They seem to think you'll be the next First Enchanter here." They paused as they neared the door to Lydia's office. "And as your little sister, I am fully qualified to assure you that you are the type of person that no one wants to let down."

Ella smiled and gave her sister a quick hug. 

"I'm proud of you, Mal," she said quietly, then stepped into her mentor's office, leaving her sister to wait in the hall. 

Lydia was at her desk, scribbling notes onto a piece of parchment. A small trunk was in the corner, open to reveal clothes that were neatly folded alongside several books. 

"Ella, I heard your apprentice has been escorted to his Harrowing?"

Ella nodded, a frown betraying her uncertainty. 

"I was fortunate with you," Lydia remarked, "I knew you would pass with no trouble, but I see you worry about your apprentice."

"He..." Ella trailed off. "He is more concerned about the war outside than the dangers in his own mind."

"I wish I could make this easier on you, child," Lydia said, rising to put a hand on Ella's arm. "but all I can do is tell you to press forward. We leave for haven at the end of this week, and our hearts and minds must be on making peace."

Ella rested her own hand lightly over Lydia's for a moment, then let if fall to her side. 

The older woman started to speak again, but a crash rang out on the floor above. Shouts followed, and Malory slammed the door open. 

"Something is happening in the harrowing chamber!" She cried, then dashed out into the hallway. 

Ella paled, certain her worst fears were confirmed, and followed her sister. 

The first enchanter and several other highly ranked mages lived and worked on the floor below the harrowing chamber. As she followed Malory up the single flight of steps, she prayed to the Maker that it had nothing to do with Bradin. As she and Malory cleared the top of the staircase, however, she felt ice in her veins. 

Bradin stood in the large hall outside of the chamber, his eyes a solid black as he threw bolt after bolt of elemental magic at the templars surrounding him. His attacks were so fast and well placed that they struggled to find the time to retaliate. The first enchanter and two other templars were lying still on the floor behind him.

Malory drew her sword but hesitated, clearly torn between protecting her sister and joining the other Templars. Ella wanted to tell her sister not to worry about her, that she could take care of herself, but she knew that Malory's only advantage was that the abomination did not yet know she was there. She watched as Malory raised her hands and let out a wave of energy. She fell to her knees as the wave washed over her and drained her almost entirely of mana. The demon paused in its assault and turned to face Malory and Ella. 

The Templars took immediate advantage of the moment, charging at the creature with vigor, but it closed in on the two women rapidly. 

Perhaps it sensed that Ella was defenseless, or perhaps some part of Bradin recognized her, but as she watched, slim fingers shifted into claws and pale skin darkened to purple. Before she could move, a clawed hand had reached out and made contact with the side of her face. Her head slammed into the stone floor and she tasted blood. 

A loud shout penetrated the haze and she watched, helpless, as the demon turned on Malory. Where were the other Templars? The demon laughed, an awful sound, as it slapped Malory out of the way like a doll. She hit the wall by the staircase with a sickening crack and tumbled out of sight, the sound of her armor clattering against the stone stairs echoing in Ella's head well after it stopped and everything went black.


	3. Chapter 3

Sharp and unforgiving pain was the first thing Ella noticed when she woke. Her whole head throbbed and the entire right side of her face felt like it was on fire. Confusion reigned for a moment before the memories of the failed Harrowing filled her heart with fear, and though she struggled to sit up, strong hands held her gently in place.

“Mal-” she choked out, and the word sent a burst of white-hot pain up to her cheekbone. An involuntary whimper cut off her words and she blinked at the person at her side. Though the blue eyes staring back at her mirrored her own, the sadness in them startled her. His face was puffy and red from crying, and Ella’s own eyes widened. She opened her mouth again and he shushed her.

“Ella, calm down. The healers said you need to stay still, that the cut on your face went all the way to the bone.” Alec’s voice was reassuring, but Ella knew there was something her twin brother wasn’t telling her.

“Malory,” she insisted, “is she--” she trailed off as she saw fresh tears well up in his eyes. “Maker, Alec, please tell me she made it.”

He shook his head.

“Kendrin told us what happened, that the demon batted everyone around like gnats. He-” Alec swallowed. “It broke her neck, Ely,” he whispered, his voice breaking, “They said it was quick, at least.”

Ella stared at him. “It was quick.” That was supposed to be comforting, it was supposed to mean she hadn’t suffered. But what comfort was there? Ella’s baby sister had become a templar because of her, had been killed because of her. She tugged her hand out of her brother’s grasp and pressed her fingers to her face, hoping the pain would wake her from whatever nightmare she had found herself in.

“Hey, Ely, stop it.” Alec said sharply, snatching her hand away.

Ella looked at him, struggling to blink back tears. “Alec I’m sorry," she whispered as the tears fell anyway, "I'm so sorry. She shouldn't have-"

He reached out and smoothed her hair back, taking care of her even now, even when she was sure their baby sister's death was her fault.

"She chose to be a Templar, Ely. You didn't make that choice for her. It's not your fault."

Ella squeezed her eyes shut, not trusting herself to respond.

"Mother and Father are at the chantry, arranging... everything. Father thought it would be best if you didn't wake up alone, but we all think you need more rest. From what Kendrin told us, you're lucky to be alive."

Ella was too tired to argue, and she felt her own exhaustion pulling her back into the blessedly empty darkness of sleep.

As she slept, she dreamed of her siblings, of days spent together before she was sent to the circle, of holidays when she was permitted to visit. Malory had been everyone's favorite, and Ella had never been an exception. In fact, Ella and Alec doted on their younger sister even more than their parents did, constantly vying with each other for her favor, sneaking her treats and teaching her everything they could about the things they loved. Alec taught Malory how to use a bow, Ella read with her and told her stories, and they both played children's games with her despite the five years that separated them in age.

Alec had often joked that Malory was the best of them, that she had been given all of the good qualities they possessed and none of the bad. Where Alec struggled to express emotion, Malory spoke her mind; where Ella was withdrawn and avoidant, Malory loved being involved in anything interesting.

Dreams of dark laughter and shouting made her rest fitful, and she woke with a start in the dark to a hushed argument from across the room.

"I want her out," a voice hissed, and Ella strained to hear the words.

"Mother, you can't possibly blame Ella for this!"

"I can and I will," Lady Trevelyan responded, and her mother's words struck Ella like a whip. "If it weren't for her magic, Malory wouldn't have been a Templar to begin with. She followed her big sister because none of you listened to me when I said the Circle would take good enough care of Ella on its own. Mages belong there! Is this not evidence enough?"

"Lyanna," came a reproachful warning. Ella let out a breath, her father would defend her. Lady Trevelyan was a good woman, but Ellas magic had always frightened her. That fear combined with her frustration at Ella's lack of interest in social events, had left their relationship strained for years, but Alec and her father had always cared about more than her magic. "She deserves to see Malory laid to rest first."

"Father!" Alec argued, his voice rising above a whisper for the first time. "We can't just turn her out. She's a mage, but she's your child! My sister! We've lost Malory and now you want to turn Ella out?!"

Her father turned toward her bed, then back to the rest of her family. In the dim firelight, she saw his back straighten.

"You will not speak to us like that, boy. This is not an easy decision to make. Ella was planning to go to the divine's conclave, and she will go as planned." His tone shifted, and Ella thought she could hear the sadness as he spoke. "With all that is going on... She cannot stay here, Alec."

Alec glanced over at Ella, and she could sense his frustration. Silently, she begged him not to argue; it would be easier for them all if she was gone. She did not want to face her parents any more than her mother wanted the filth of her magic in her home. His posture changed and she wondered if he had realized she was awake.

"Then get out. And leave her be, both of you. I won't have either of you making her feel worse. She already blames herself, and now you're just making it worse."

"Alec-" her mother started, but Bann Trevelyan finally put his foot down.

"Come, Lyanna. It will be best if she hears this from Alec."

"Yes, leave me here to clean up your _mess_ ," Alec spat as they left the room, and Ella winced. Tears stung the wound on her cheek and she tried to sink further into the blankets and pillows on her bed. She must have made a noise, because Alec sighed as he took his place next to her.

"You weren't supposed to hear that," he told her quietly as he passed her a glass of water.

"It's fine," she told him, ignoring the glass in favor of staring steadily at her hands. "They're right. The conclave is important. Malory would want me to go."

"The healers said you should be fine to move around tomorrow."

Ella snorted.

"Like they could have stopped me?" They sat in uncomfortable silence for a few moments before she spoke again. "I'm tired, Alec. We should both get some sleep before the funeral."

Her brother hesitated, and Ella knew she was being unfair, but she really didn't know what to say. She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that threatened to fall as she heard him sigh and move towards the door.

 

 

* * *

 

By mid morning, Ella stood between her brother and Kendrin as they waited for the carriage that would take them to the chantry. Lord and Lady Trevelyan had left only moments before, the latter offering little more than a curt nod to her wounded daughter. Alec glared at Lady Trevelyan’s back, but Kendrin just turned to her and squeezed her hand as he helped her into the carriage.

“This is not your fault, Ella. Malory believed in the path she was taking. Your mother will come around.”

Ella nodded gratefully to Kendrin, not trusting herself to speak. Ella didn't truly believe that she was to blame for Malory’s death. Truth be told, she really didn't think her mother did either. In the night when she was alone, it was easy to forget that Malory was her own person who had always made her own choices, but in the bright light of day Ella could remember the truth. Kendrin was right; Lady Trevelyan would come around.

Alec, who was also unusually quiet, climbed in beside them and the carriage began to move. She spent the ride to the chantry picking at the threads of the black gown her mother had sent to her room the night before. Though seated between her brother and a man who may as well have been family, she felt isolated. Though her sister's death had not been her fault, Ella struggled to process the indirect role she had played in the whole affair. 

It was magic left unchecked, a demon possessing a fellow mage that had resulted in her sister’s death. Bradin had not been ready for his Harrowing, and Ella had known it. Though she had long opposed the customary practice, she had never considered an alternative. A mage's susceptibility to possession was certainly nothing to be scoffed at, but putting every mage in a perilous situation such as the Harrowing had never made sense to her. That said, Ella had never had any problems with the Templars, though it seemed the Ostwick mages were unusual in that regard. The incident outside of the Harrowing Chamber reinforced her belief that the process was flawed, but she also believed that Templars were a necessary, if poorly utilized, resource.

She wondered idly, as Alec reached for her hand and took it in his own, how everyone would react if she suddenly spiraled out of control. Would Alec still defend her? She hoped not. Kendrin, she knew, would do his duty; he was as devoted to the order as he had been to Malory.

The realization was an oddly comforting one, and she felt her panic recede as they arrived, only to be replaced by a wave of nausea. The service was led by the grand cleric of of Ostwick herself, though Ella was unimpressed. Her aunt Inara had always been her favorite, but she couldn't focus as the woman spoke of Malory’s bravery and piety. Malory was so much more than a good Templar. She had been loving and funny and full of life... and now she wasn't. 

The formalities passed in a blur, and soon Ella found herself standing before her baby sister’s pyre, tears welling up in her eyes. Alec took her hand and squeezed, reminding her that he was there. As the pyre burned, Ella felt the hot air stinging her face, but she didn't move. She would not turn her back on her sister in life or in death. After what felt like hours, Alec pulled gently on her hand, signaling that it was time to go, and they walked together in silence back to the carriage that would take them home.


	4. Chapter 4

Cullen Rutherford was up before the sun on his first full day in Haven, and despite a rather concentrated effort to fall back to sleep, it seemed as though he had gotten all the rest his mind would allow. Reluctant to abandon the relative warmth of the heavy wool blankets that covered his cot, he rolled over and glared at the opening of his tent. If he could not sleep, then he would at least avoid the cold for a bit longer.

It was odd, he realized, to be back in Ferelden. He'd been raised playing in the snow with his brother and sisters and had once been able to shrug off the cold as easily as a fool could an insult. He closed his eyes for a moment and a memory from his childhood came to him. His baby sister had just turned three, and it was the first snow of the year. Mia, as the eldest, had taken the toddler-sized Rosalie out to play in the snow, and Cullen and Branson had put on their coats and followed them out into the white stillness of their farm. Rosalie was small for her age, and she clung to her elder sister’s hip for the first ten minutes or so. It had been Cullen, though, who had coaxed her down to the ground to make a snow angel. He remembered how her giggles had made it difficult to pick her up, how her squirming made him tip over, messing up both angels as the pair landed in a pile of snow and laughter.  

The happy memory of his siblings brought with it a sharp pang of guilt. When he had gone to Kirkwall, he had truly planned to never return to Ferelden or his family. He reasoned that he was sparing his siblings more pain, and that no news would be better than sharing the nightmares in his head. This time, though, he had written his sister when he moved. The day before they left Kirkwall, he had sent a raven to South Reach. He had been surprised that it would be so simple, but Leliana’s smug assurance that she did have contacts there was, for once, quite welcome. Leaving the order was not the only change he intended to make. For the first time in ten years, he actually wanted to stay in touch with his family, though he was nervous about the reply.

Mia and the others had plenty of reason to be disappointed in him, especially if they had gotten their hands on a copy of  _ The Tale of The Champion _ . He wondered briefly what Mia had thought when she read the sections in which he featured. It was difficult not to picture her curled up in a chair with her nose crinkled in distaste at his words. “Mages cannot be treated like people…” His own words haunted him now, though he had long since realized his error. It had not helped that every time he had had second thoughts or questioned his orders, Meredith had assured him that they were just doing their duty, that they were just keeping Kirkwall safe so that the people would never experience what he had. 

Cullen snorted. He had been a fool to allow her to manipulate him so easily. Meredith’s rhetoric and his own fear had stoked an anger within him that he hated to admit he could still feel on occasion. Regardless of Meredith’s influence, his behavior had still been his own, and there was much he still needed to answer for. 

It was that final thought that propelled him out of his cot. The cold seeped quickly through the tunic and breeches he’d slept in and he hurried to change into the leathers he wore under his armor. He dressed with an efficiency that only years of repetition could have taught, and soon stood in the new breastplate that he had been issued when he left his post in the order. He frowned for a moment as he noticed the difference in weight. This particular piece was a much higher quality than standard issue Templar armor, and it sat differently on his shoulders. There hadn't been time to get a whole new suit of armor made, and as Cullen had insisted such frivolity was unnecessary, he wore the same greaves and bracers he had for years. 

As he buckled his sword into place he considered where to begin. Haven would need to be secured, of course, and many of his men would likely be assigned to keeping the peace between the visiting factions. Though it would likely be tiresome work, he allowed himself a small smile, glad to at last be part of something that sought a solution. 

The sun had risen by the time he had finished preparing for the day, and he made his way into the town proper in search of Cassandra and Rylen. He had been offered quarters within Haven’s walls but had opted to sleep outside of the gate with the bulk of his men, and as he watched the small town come to life, he was glad for the space. Residents of Haven as well as visitors moved from place to place, and the activity was almost too distracting Since he’d made the decision to quit taking lyrium, he had learned that he worked far better with fewer people around. He’d also learned that the more he could get done by midafternoon, the better.. Late afternoon was almost always accompanied by headaches, and he often lost focus as the sun began to set. That didn’t stop him, however, from retiring to his tent, lighting a lamp, and planning ahead for the next day. 

A summit of this size promised to draw much attention; the outcome would be felt across all of Thedas. As such, mages and templars were not the only ones in attendance. The chantry had hired mercenaries to help with security, and he and Cassandra would have to coordinate with them as well. He sighed. They had quite a bit of work ahead of them if they were to secure the area in just over a fortnight. 

Though the official start of the conclave was a couple of weeks away, people had already started arriving. Many of the early arrivals were spectators, some were pilgrims eager to see the Divine in person, and still others came for reasons unknown. As he made his way to Haven’s chantry, he noticed a few mages and a templar or two in the crowd, but none that looked to be representatives of any circle in particular. He made a mental note to station a few extra guards near the Divine’s quarters, but still felt a sense of relief at the fact that, at least for now, the village seemed quiet. 

Cassandra was already in the back room of the chantry, pouring over what looked like a map of the immediate area. She looked up and nodded to him in greeting. 

“Lady Cassandra,” Cullen inclined his head in return, ignoring the sharp glare his formal address earned him. “Have you seen Rylen this morning? I’d like him to choose an honor guard for Divine Justinia.”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “A full guard?”

Cullen nodded, not cowed by her response. 

“As capable as you and Sister Leliana are, the conclave will offer countless distractions, and your duties may take you elsewhere. A dedicated guard would have no other such responsibilities.”

She considered that for a moment, then nodded. 

“I see your point.” Cassandra hesitated, “How are you feeling?”

Cullen frowned. He had expected her to check in with him, but he wasn’t used to it yet. He sighed and avoided her gaze.

“Mornings are the easiest, though I had forgotten how cold it gets this far south.”

Cassandra shrugged and gestured toward a package on a table in the corner of the room.

“Then I am sure you will appreciate your gift.”

Now it was his turn to raise his eyebrows. 

“Gift?”

“Lady Montilyet arrived very late last night, and she brought gifts for each of us. Leliana assures me it would be most impolite to refuse them.”

Cullen snorted. Of course it would be impolite. He had all that he needed, but there was no reason to insult a woman he may well soon be working closely with, so he moved over to the package and tugged at the strings. When the paper fell away, his eyes widened. It was a cloak, trimmed at the neck with the dark fur of what he thought was a bear. The fabric was thick and well made, a deep maroon trimmed in gold. He hadn’t held something so well crafted in as long as he could remember. 

“That will certainly help with the cold,” Cassandra said, her voice almost smug as he ran his hand across the fabric.

“I should hope so,” a soft voice said from the doorway, and Cullen turned around to see Leliana standing just inside the door in front of a darker skinned woman he could only assume was Josephine. “Josie thought it was a fitting surcoat for our commander.”

Josepine smiled and inclined her head.

“Indeed,” she stepped forward and beamed at all of them, “I saw it in a shop in Denerim, and I thought it would suit your Ferelden sensibilities.”

Cullen blushed; he was quite unused to receiving gifts, particularly ones of such fine quality. He had been using the same armor for almost ten years, and the new breastplate had been quite a change on its own. Still, he could not deny that it would help with the cold, and he knew that a leader should look the part, so he bowed his head in gratitude.

“It is a gracious gift, Lady Montilyet, you have my thanks.”

“Well, try it on, Commander. I’m sure it will look quite dashing!” Leliana insisted, her smile bright as she moved into the room. 

Cullen could feel the heat on his cheeks as he nodded and lifted the garment out of its package. It was simple enough to put on, but he fumbled a bit under the gaze of the women. Thankfully, Cassandra sensed his discomfort and broke the awkward silence.

“How was your trip, Lady Montilyet? Did you stay at the palace during your time in Denerim?”

“The trip itself was a bit cramped, but King Alistair is a most gracious host, though he was rather tight lipped about the whereabouts of Queen Amara.” She turned to Leliana and grinned. “He was quite amused when I purchased your shoes, Leli. He told me to let you know that he was glad some things stay the same.”

Leliana laughed at that, and the two chatted about the King and Queen as he finished fastening the cloak. It sat comfortably over his armor, and he could already tell that it would be quite effective at keeping him warm. As foreign as the bear fur felt against the skin of his neck, it was an oddly familiar nod to his heritage and his family, both of which he sought to reacquaint himself with. 

“Oh it looks wonderful on you, Cullen.” Leliana exclaimed, and even Cassandra nodded in agreement. 

“You look quite respectable!” Josephine added, then blushed. “Oh, not that you didn’t before, of course, I just-”

Cullen gave them a rare smile and bowed again to Josephine.

“Thank you again, Lady Montilyet, I’m sure it will remind me to behave respectably.”

The room was quiet for a split second, but a snort from Cassandra’s direction broke the brief tension and they all giggled as Cullen raised his eyebrows.

“You are so serious sometimes, Commander, that your sense of humor surprises me.” Cassandra admitted.

“Careful, Lady Pentaghast,” Cullen retorted, “You’re starting to sound like Varric.”

Both Leliana and Josephine burst into another fit of giggles at that, but Cassandra just rolled her eyes.

“Very funny” Cassandra said drily, “Weren’t you looking for Rylen, Commander?”

He grinned at her, but then nodded seriously, reminded of the great deal of work to be done. 

“I was, and now that I am dressed the part, I must go and attend to my duties.” He bowed his head once more as they all bid him farewell, then made a hasty exit. Though grateful for Josephine’s kindness, he had been sidetracked for longer than he had anticipated. He and Rylen had a long way to go before everything was ready for the conclave.


End file.
